Truce
by Koanashi
Summary: Post-DH, One Shot. Draco Malfoy's attempt to apologize to Potter, in order to please his mother. Rated T for some language.


**Truce**

Malfoy hated Potter for many reasons. He hated him because father told him how Potter stood in the natural way of progress; if it hadn't been for him, The Dark Lord would have risen long ago and Malfoy would have grown up in a far purer, better world. He hated him because he was part of that house full of foolish Mudbloods and Blood traitors who thought themselves superior to him on pure virtue of being a Gryffindor. He hated Harry Potter because he _deserved_ it.

Through out their entire time at Hogwarts, since that ungrateful prat had rejected his generous offer of friendship, Malfoy had felt nothing but disdain for The Boy Who Lived. Maybe if he'd joined Slytherin, Malfoy would have given him a second chance. Maybe. But Malfoy grew to realize exactly how well Gryffindor suited Potter over the years. Not that he looked out of place the first time he joined those buffoons at their table.

He'd always known – _knew_ – that he was better than Potter. In the past few months he'd felt that way more strongly than ever. He was on the strong side. The right side. The winning side. Potter was left hiding in the shadows, desperately trying to avoid detection. Potter was as good as dead.

Yes, Malfoy hated Potter for many, many reasons. Over the years at Hogwarts, every time he'd directly or indirectly competed with that bastard Potter, he'd come out with less favorable results. At least they were roughly equal in academics, but the teachers always played favourites with Potter. That was why Malfoy was proud to have Snape as the head of Slytherin. At least he wasn't blinded by the whole mythology around Potter and saw him as the pathetic little worm he was, unlike a certain Headmaster.

It was a joke, really. Potter wins. Again. Against all the odds. Again. Potter bests Malfoy. Again. If there was a God, even he was playing favorites with Harry Potter. Crabbe, the overzealous fool, was dead. The Dark Lord was very much dead, this time. At least his mother had noticed the change in the wind and helped Potter; otherwise he and his parents would probably on their way to Azkaban right this very moment.

Malfoy resented Potter most because he'd saved his life. Not even just once, several times. He hated thinking about it, loathed the thought of ever being grateful to that idiot, the sense that he owed him something. Not that he would rather be dead. No, Malfoy had never entertained fantasies involving ending life in a blaze of glory… much like Crabbe had done. Malfoy hated Potter because he knew he would never do the same for Potter, and Potter knew that too. Potter had proven himself better than him, again.

On the other hand, Malfoy loved his mother, and had rarely thought of disobeying her, if ever. Family is important, after all; it is what distinguished him from filthy Mudbloods; it was his ancestry and the magic in his veins from generations of pure breeding that made him superior. But on this one occasion, he just couldn't see the logic behind her 'suggestion'.

'Make peace with Harry Potter. He saved us.' Saved them? Yes, they were falling out of favour with The Dark Lord, but surely they could have done something about that? Now they were considered the lowest of the low, for helping and supporting him all those years. He knew they would send father off to Azkaban, sooner or later, after a 'fair trial'. Maybe not for life, but what life do you have left in you after that? It was all Potter's fault.

And yet there he was, chewing on his bottom lip, thinking of the most casual and indirect way of communicating the idea of a truce to Potter. Obeying mother yet again. What a good son he was. Maybe not what she had hoped for, but a truce would have to do. Malfoy hated Potter. Hate didn't leave room for peace.

It had been a few months since the fall of The Dark Lord; things seemed to have finally settled into some sort of routine for most. Life had started again for the Wizarding community after a long season of mourning. Now there was a large rush for supplies, shops finally reopening and stocks being replenished. Diagon Alley heaved with wizards and witches hurrying to deposit some money at Gringotts or to finally purchase some new robes for their growing children (many of whom had been wearing robes a few inches too short over the past year).

Malfoy had entered Flourish & Blotts in order to browse – though he'd never been much of a reader, he'd found his days rather empty in more recent times, and he couldn't stay in the Leaky Cauldron for too long without ordering a drink. Books weren't in great demand at the moment, though an influx of biographies of many a brave deceased wizard and witch had caused a reasonably sized crowd to form in the bookstore.

He hadn't actually intended to run into Potter; indeed, their meeting was purely by chance. Well, it didn't seemed that Potter was paying any particular attention to him, though for all Malfoy knew he could just be ignoring him. He was with the Weasley girl, who was twittering away at him in an excited fashion that seemed to indicate she was completely oblivious to Malfoy's presence in the crowded bookstore.

It was only when they started to make their way to the exit that Malfoy let out an 'Oi! Potter!' in a last ditch attempt to gain his attention before he missed his chance. Maybe that had been a mistake; Malfoy wasn't exactly prepared. Luckily it wasn't too loud, only a few heads turned, and most of them returned to their business almost instantly when realizing it was nothing of much interest, but Malfoy suddenly felt oddly self-conscious without his fellow Slytherins by his side.

Potter turned. The Weasley girl leered at Malfoy, and Malfoy wondered how the look might compare to that of a Basilisk. 'What is it, Malfoy?'

Malfoy was slightly taken aback. Potter had not, as expected, spat his name. Sure, it wasn't the most pleasant of responses, but it didn't seem to ooze with the mutual hatred as it did back in their school days. Malfoy felt almost – almost – immature for clinging onto his hate for Potter, when Potter seemed to have risen above it. Though he was probably just trying to show off in front of his girlfriend. That could be the only explanation.

Malfoy felt the seconds tick by. His mind was blank, his mouth and throat dry. It took him a moment to find the right words, then another to manage to articulate the right sounds to produce them. Why he was so nervous, Malfoy didn't know. But it was best to get this over and done with.

'You're alright.' It wasn't much, but it was about all he could manage right now. He wondered if he really meant what he'd just said. He'd grown accustomed to lying over the years.

The Weasley girl looked slightly bewildered, and moved her gaze to Potter, as if relying on him to pass judgment on Malfoy for both of them. Potter gave a nod, a look of understanding that Malfoy didn't really feel quite comfortable with, and then was out of the doorway. Within a few strides the Weasley girl was back to her animated self.

Maybe Malfoy didn't hate Potter that much after all.

* * *

Koanashi: I've not posted anything for years now. This is my first HP fic, and I do hope I've kept everyone relatively in character. Enjoy! Feel free to give constructive criticism, I need it to improve


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